self-respect. Perhaps he felt that his remorse had purified him, and
believed that he had blotted out his fault by his anguish and his
shame. He now walked with a firm step, and since the previous evening
he had washed away the blood with which he was, involuntarily,
stained.

"My hands must have dabbled in it while I slept, for I am always a
restless sleeper," he had said to me in tones of horrible despair.

I learned that he was on his way to appear before the council of war.
The division was to march on the following morning, and the
commanding-officer did not wish to leave Andernach without inquiry
into the crime on the spot where it had been committed. I remained in
the utmost anxiety during the time the council lasted. At last, about
mid-day, Prosper Magnan was brought back. I was then taking my usual
walk; he saw me, and came and threw himself into my arms.

"Lost!" he said, "lost, without hope! Here, to all the world, I am a
murderer." He raised his head proudly. "This injustice restores to me
my innocence. My life would always have been wretched; my death leaves
me without reproach. But is there a future?"

The whole eighteenth century was in that sudden question. He remained
thoughtful.

"Tell me," I said to him, "how you answered. What did they ask you?
Did you not relate the simple facts as you told them to me?"

He looked at me fixedly for a moment; then, after that awful pause, he
answered with feverish excitement:--